Good enough. No, better than good. He tried to quell the exhilaration that leaped in him. She hadn’t agreed to go out with him, for God’s sake. She was unhappy and just a little drunk and had accepted a ride home because she apparently thought he was a decent guy, at least. He should be flattered, no more.

  Walking behind her, his gaze caught by the sway of her hips in a snug gray skirt, he realized that flattered did not describe his feelings. A savage sense of satisfaction was closer. Leila Foster had confided in him. She was letting him drive her home.

  He’d feel like a jerk if he took advantage of her trust tonight, but sooner or later he would walk right through this opening she’d given him. He’d wanted Leila for a long time.

  Oh, yeah, he thought. This was just the first step.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE EFFECT OF THE WINE waned even during the short drive from the Green Lantern to her house. Or so Leila told herself. After all, three glasses wasn’t all that much for most people. Some of her wooziness might be simple confusion, which was natural to feel after the day she’d had.

  A day that had somehow—she still couldn’t quite figure out how—ended with her telling all her troubles to Mark Duncan, of all people, and then accepting a ride home from him. She usually avoided him! And yet here she was. And the extraordinary part was, he’d been both kind and insightful.

  She felt as if she were in a house of mirrors, with every reflection distorted.

  “Turn here,” she remembered to tell him. “My house is on the left, the one with the arbor along the driveway.”

  Her father had helped build that arbor when she first bought the house. Climbing roses now draped it. Just another few weeks and they’d be in bloom, singles and doubles in pink and white, exuding a heady, sweet scent.

  Mark pulled into her driveway, set the brake and turned off the engine. Alarmed by the silence, Leila rushed into speech. “Can I offer you a cup of coffee? It would just be instant, but…”

  Oh, dear. Had she really invited him in?

  She couldn’t quite read his expression in the limited light cast by the streetlamp at the corner, but he sounded merely courteous when he said, “Thanks, I’d appreciate that. I’ve still got the drive home.”

  Uh-huh. All the way to Lake Stevens, maybe twenty minutes. She was pretty sure he hadn’t even finished the one beer.

  But before her suspicion had a chance to coalesce, he opened his door and added, “Long day.”

  Oh. Yes. He’d started it early and probably was tired. Maybe he did just want a cup of coffee.

  She didn’t stagger on the walk up to the front door—in fact, she was very careful to walk a straight line and was proud of herself that she managed. It did require an effort.

  She even took her keys from her purse and got the right one in the lock without much fumbling. Leila switched on the lamp beside the front door and turned on more lights as she continued in. After setting down her purse, she saw that he was looking around with interest.

  “Nice place.”

  Self-conscious, she said, “Thank you.”

  She hadn’t realized quite how feminine the decor was until she saw it through his eyes. Or maybe it was just seeing him standing in the middle of her living room. He was so…male. Not, somehow, tamed the way her ideal man was. The effect was enhanced by his obvious tiredness. His jaw was shadowed by an end-of-the-day beard—or had he not had a chance to shave at all this morning? His dark hair was disheveled, his hands shoved in the pockets of a black leather jacket. She knew that beneath it he wore a gun in a shoulder holster. His badge was clipped to the belt of his black slacks.

  Don’t stare.

  “Coffee,” she said hastily. “I promised you coffee.”

  He followed her to the small kitchen with its cupboards painted white and the walls a soft peach. Yesterday she’d impulsively bought a bunch of tulips from a woman selling flowers on a street corner. They were white and deep pink and peach, mingled in a cream-colored ceramic pitcher. The blooms had opened more today, making them look blowsy, something Michelangelo might have painted beside a reclining nude. Who would also, of course, be blowsy. Unlike her, who, if she posed nude on the kitchen countertop, would be much too scrawny to complete the picture.

  Oh, dear. She’d definitely had too much to drink.

  She gave her head a firm shake, trying to relodge her common sense. How long had she been standing here as blankly as someone in a strange kitchen who had no idea where to find anything?

  “I’m afraid it’ll have to be instant,” she said as she filled the teakettle and set it on the stove.

  He didn’t say anything. Leila turned to find him watching her with an odd expression on his face. A couple of lines furrowed his brow.

  “I wasn’t going to ask—and I’m sure I’ll be sorry once I do—but…why don’t you like me?”

  Panic fluttered in her chest. “I don’t, um, not like you.”

  He seemed to take that in. “Ah…so you don’t dislike me.”

  “No. Of course not.” Her cheeks felt distinctly hot.

  “You’re just neutral? I’m okay? Not interesting enough to date?”

  Completely sober, she might have been able to handle this conversation. As it was, she couldn’t think of a sassy, sophisticated retort. Instead the best she could do was a mumbled, “It’s not exactly that.”

  Gaze fixated on the vinyl floor, she didn’t notice he’d moved until she lifted her head to find him right in front of her. She’d have retreated, except her back was already to the counter.

  “So I am interesting enough,” he said in a meditative tone.

  Her standard excuse popped out of her mouth. “I don’t date guys from work.”

  “I hear you used to.”

  That’s right. He hadn’t joined the department until after she’d told Gary Phillips to get lost. “I learned my lesson.”

  Just like Mark, Gary had tempted her with his air of danger. He’d brooded, making Leila believe he was a complex man with hidden depths. She had just begun to wonder if he wasn’t instead sulking anytime he wasn’t the center of attention when she’d discovered a new flaw.

  Foolishly Leila had assumed they were exclusive. She found out they weren’t in a particularly painful way when she dropped by his apartment to surprise him one Saturday morning.

  Still watching her closely, Mark mused, “So that’s the only thing wrong with me. We both work for the city.”

  “And you’re a cop.”

  “Which is bad…how?”

  “It’s not a lifestyle that appeals to me.”

  “We’re not talking about getting married.”

  The teakettle burped and rumbled behind her.

  Still embarrassed but driven to honesty, she tilted her chin up. “I’m getting to an age where I don’t want to start something that doesn’t at least have that possibility.”

  To her shock, he nodded. “Getting so I feel that way myself.”

  Lord help her, she simply melted at the idea he’d been thinking of her as a woman he could see meeting at the altar. Her legs weren’t as dependable as usual anyway. Now they quivered. The next thing she knew, he’d grasped her upper arms and was steadying her, which brought him so close she could see every individual spiky, dark lash around his eyes, which had a glow that compounded her meltdown.

  “Doesn’t seem like we’re so out of sync,” he murmured in a voice that sounded as scratchy as his cheeks looked.

  No, she thought fuzzily, they felt very much in sync right this minute. He had the absolute most sensuous mouth she’d ever seen. She hadn’t, despite her best efforts, been able to forget how it felt against hers during that brief kiss after which she’d panicked. She seemed to be swaying toward him—or he was toward her—because the length of his body was touching hers, and the feel of his arousal pushed her over the edge.

  Leila made a small, strangled sound, rose on tiptoe and threw her arms around his neck. Groaning, Mark bent his head and kissed her.

  It was the most glorious kiss of her life, deep, dark, skillful, a plundering that unashamedly mimicked the way he would take her body. His hips crowded hers, and finally he lifted her to the countertop so that he could stand between her legs.

  Sex, in her experience, had always been almost furtive. A fumbling, eyes closed, as though she could pretend something much grander was happening. Or as if she wasn’t actually doing it at all. She had never, ever sat on a kitchen countertop with her legs parted so a man could shove his erection against that wet, aching place down there. She’d never had a man stroke her breasts as rhythmically as his tongue stroked hers—and they were in the kitchen, with the fluorescent lights on overhead and the kitchen curtains open and…

  The teakettle shrieked.

  With a squeak, Leila levitated.

  The kettle kept screaming, and Mark growled an obscenity and backed away so he could reach the stove. It only took him a moment to lift the teakettle from the burner and for the shriek to become a whimper. But that was long enough for shock to sweep through Leila.

  What was she doing? She was about to have sex with a man she’d already decided—for good and rational reasons—not to date! It was the wine. It had to be the wine. She never had been able to handle alcohol.

  He took a step toward her, saw her face and stopped.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said roughly.

  She drew a tremulous breath. “Like what?”

  “As if you think I’m going to attack you.”

  “I don’t think that.” She gathered courage along with another breath. “I know I’m the one who actually started that. But I think, um, that I had too much to drink.”

  A muscle bunched in his cheek. “Feeling the need for an excuse, huh?”

  Leila was inexplicably ashamed of herself considering she’d told the truth. Hadn’t she?

  “I just…that was going really fast.”

  His eyes still glittered. “Yes. It was.”

  “I need to think.”

  Frustration showed on his face, but he dipped his head. “Tell you what—I think I’ll skip the coffee.”

  “Are you sure?” Don’t be an idiot. Get him out of here before… Her eyes widened. Before what? She begged him to stay? “Thank you for the ride, Mark. Obviously I wasn’t in any shape to drive.”

  He nodded again and backed out of the kitchen. “No problem. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Not if I see you first.

  Or, sober, would she long for a repeat of that kiss?

  Leila followed him to the front door and said, “Drive carefully. Um, thank you again. I mean, for telling me what you did…. It was nice of you.”

  “Nice.” His tone was so flat, his expression so unenthusiastic, she wondered if she’d just insulted him. Did you not tell a man who’d just been kissing you passionately that he was “nice”?

  Trying to make amends, she began, “You didn’t have to…”

  “Forget it. Good night, Leila.” He turned and left.

  She locked up behind him, then leaned her back against the door, pressed her hand to her still-racing heart and tried to convince herself she’d just had a lucky escape.

  The knot of regret under her breastbone…well, in the morning, when she was herself again, it would be gone.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “WHEN I HEARD, I maneuvered myself into a business trip to San Diego,” Leila’s brother was telling her. “I’m flying down Monday.”

  Leila had phoned Jon—who lived in Portland, Oregon—after the latest alarming conversation with her mother, only to find he’d taken all of her news placidly.

  “I’ll give the guy a call when I get down there, see if we can have dinner. I’ll report afterward,” Jon continued.

  Feeling semihysterical, Leila said, “Jon, haven’t you been listening? Mom’s getting married six weeks from now! What difference does it make if you like the guy or not? Mom doesn’t care what we think.”

  “I have to believe, if I really detest him, she’ll pay attention to me.”

  Leila snorted. “Good luck. She’s completely uninterested in my reservations.”

  When she’d called the day after their lunch to apologize for walking out, her mother had told her gently that she understood—but she hadn’t said one word about Leila possibly being right that she was going too fast.

  “Maybe she’s not interested,” her brother said, “because you hate the whole idea without even having met the guy.”

  “She chats online with him for a few weeks…”

  “Months.”

  Ignoring his interjection, Leila continued, “…then she flies down there for a long weekend and she’s ready to marry him? That doesn’t seem just a little hasty to you?”

  “She did know him before. They went together for nearly four years.”

  “When they were in college. Over forty years ago! People change.”

  “What do you think—he marries women for their money and then buries them in the basement?”

  Irritated beyond measure, she said, “Who knows? Maybe he beat his wife! Maybe he’ll spend all her money on…on sports cars and…and…”

  Her brother’s voice was unexpectedly soft. “Would that be so bad as long as she went everywhere with him in the sports car? I don’t need her money. I make plenty and I’ll bet you do, too.”

  “I don’t care about the money!” Darn it, she was struggling not to cry. “I care about Mom.”

  “I’ll let you know what I think of the guy. Isn’t actually meeting him the logical step?”

  She sniffed.

  “Try to be a little more open, okay? She’s so happy! Really seems in love. You know,” he said craftily, “if I ever lost Kait, I’d want another chance.”

  “Is Kaitlyn within earshot?”

  He laughed and said goodbye. Leila sighed and hung up.

  Jon was right. Leila knew he was. She should give this Robert a chance. And she would, if only Mom wouldn’t race ahead so fast.

  Mark Duncan had put his finger on her real problem. These last few days, since talking to him at the Green Lantern, she’d found herself constantly thinking, But I thought Mom and Dad were so much in love! Leila hadn’t forgotten the years after Cody died, when their family had nearly fragmented, but after that… Well, her parents hadn’t divorced, as couples so often did after losing a child. They had to have loved each other deeply to weather that kind of tragedy. Their relationship had become her ideal, and she fervently wanted one just like it.

  They’d been happy together! They’d held hands sometimes when they’d gone for walks, and her father had never forgotten Mom’s birthday or their wedding anniversary or Valentine’s Day. Mom certainly had never criticized Dad to Jon or Leila.

  So…which part of the picture was wrong? She kept peering at the past as if it was one of those puzzles where you were supposed to spot the item that didn’t belong.

  Had Mom been faking it all those years? Had she been secretly miserable or at least disappointed in how her life had turned out? And if she could pretend that well…could Leila believe anything she’d ever believed about her mother?

  And…had Dad known and been reconciled to being second best?

  Her thoughts veered. How much worse it would have been to have a parent kill himself! Just decide life wasn’t worth living at all, that he didn’t love his wife or kids enough to get through even another few days. And to do it right before something that was so important to Mark… That would have been devastating. In comparison, what she was feeling right now was…unsettling. The same but not the same.

  Ever since Mark had told her about his father, she’d tried to relate the tragedy to the man he was now. Did his father’s suicide have something to do with his decision to go into law enforcement? She wondered about his mother, and whether the woman had ever gotten over the cruelty and betrayal of having the man she loved choose death over her. Because that’s what it would feel like, wouldn’t it? Even if you knew, rationally, that clinical depression was an illness and that Mark’s father might have battled it for years for his wife and children’s sake before he’d lost.

  Of course, Leila could have asked Mark more about his parents and siblings and what had happened to him after his father’s death if only the evening hadn’t ended so awkwardly.

  She’d seen him only twice since then. He was caught up in a case and seemed distracted the first time, when they’d met in the hall. He’d merely nodded and kept going. What could she do but the same? And that was what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? The fact that she’d poured her heart out to him, gotten tipsy and they’d kissed didn’t mean anything. She’d made plain that she was sorry things had gone so far. He wasn’t the kind of man to push it. She should be grateful.

  Because she did still have good reasons for not starting a relationship with him. Just because she’d discovered he was nicer than she’d imagined, more empathetic, didn’t mean he was a man she could imagine herself having any kind of future with.

  She’d been sure Gary Phillips had fascinating depths, too, and look how wrong she’d been. There was no getting around the fact that the two men had some real similarities. For one thing, they’d both chosen the same dangerous job that meant carrying a gun. They were both sexy men who knew it, who walked with blatantly male confidence, who had an air of mystery.

  Forget mystery. Leila needed a man who was an open book, who had an even temper and who never, ever brooded. And while she was at it, she appreciated a regular schedule. Even dating a cop meant getting used to last-minute cancellations and dinners interrupted by urgent phone calls. Imagine being married to one!

  But, darn it, now she found herself watching for Mark, and he was nowhere to be seen. Except for yesterday, when he’d come into the Records unit looking for some information and she’d practically fallen over her feet rushing to the counter to be the one to help him. At the end, he’d lowered his voice so no one else would hear and asked, “Have you and your mother talked again?”

  Leila had nodded. “The wedding is the first weekend in June. I guess I don’t have any choice but to get used to the idea, do I?”

 

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